


Interlude: Eridium

by BoxOnTheNile



Series: No Heaven [2]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games), Red vs. Blue
Genre: Background Grimmons, Background Pastrytrain, Borderlands Fusion, M/M, Multi, RvB Centric, and eridium bullshit, featuring nile's personal siren lore, past sargrey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 21:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16542479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxOnTheNile/pseuds/BoxOnTheNile
Summary: “Oh, he’s alive,” Grif said. “Fantastic. Hey, quick question: what thefuckjust happened?”“I don’t know,” Tucker said, fear creeping back into his voice. “It… it sang. It’s still singing. Can’t you hear it?”





	Interlude: Eridium

**Author's Note:**

> So who's ready for me to get back on my bullshit? (I was never off.)
> 
> HEY SO KAY DREW ME A [CABOOSE AND FRECKLES](http://artsyorangeykay.tumblr.com/post/179829273934/artsyorangeykay-a-commission-for-boxonthenile) AND IT'S THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THING I'VE EVER LAID EYES ON GO LOOK AT IT
> 
> EDIT: OR I COULD FORGET A SUMMARY THAT'S FINE JUST TAKE MY AO3 RIGHTS AWAY

Hyperion took Overlook without warning. It made sense, really; Overlook was directly between their mines in the Ashes and the spaceport in Lynchwood. 

That didn't make it any less fucking terrifying.

Grif immediately told Kai to go to Sanctuary. They argued about it for hours, but eventually, she went. Wash was tense for days, waiting for them to come for Valhalla. The old research outpost was only a few miles out from Overlook, but the attack never came.

“It’s a matter of pride,” Simmons explained after a week. “Hyperion isn’t going to use Atlas facilities for the same reason Atlas didn’t retake Sanctuary or any of the half-dozen Dahl outposts up north. They don’t need it, why would they sink down that far?”

“And you’d know a lot about that,” Wash said, disbelieving. 

Simmons bristled. “I would, actually. I worked for Tediore for years. I know how they think, _Washington._ ”

Washington knew how they thought, too, and he also knew Simmons was right. Unless Handsome Jack himself decided that Valhalla had something he wanted, Hyperion wouldn’t touch anything with an Atlas logo, even if he technically owned it.

A chill ghosted over the tattoo on the back of his neck. How long until they noticed one of their weapons hadn’t called in?

Until then, Valhalla had to be self-sufficient, and they all scrambled to make that happen. It took three weeks and an agreement with Sanctuary: they would use the greenhouse to help feed the steadily growing resistance against Hyperion in return for a cut of the supplies they managed to smuggle or raid. 

This had gone on for four months when Donut brought back a piece of whatever Hyperion was mining. It sat on the kitchen table, glowing conspicuously, as everyone stared.

“What the fuck is it?” Simmons finally asked.

“A glowing, purple rock,” Grif told him. Simmons smacked his arm.

“They called it Eridium,” Donut said. “Said something about the Vault from last year. But the Vault was empty, wasn't it?”

“No,” Wash said, almost inaudible. “No, this was the treasure. Where's Tucker, he might-”

“I might what?” Tucker pushed through the door. “Because I swear to god, if you're doing that shit again, I'll…” he trailed off. His eyes unfocused, and he turned absently toward the rock. 

“Tucker?” Caboose said. The Siren didn't answer, just reached out and touched.

The instant his fingertips brushed the surface, his marks shone blinding bright. Wash knew that glow, knew something dangerous was about to happen, and tackled Caboose to ground, dragging him behind the island counter, the others a half second behind. 

A pair of crackling electric wings manifested behind Tucker, lightning arcing from the ends to almost everything metal: the doorknob, the stove, even the hinges of the cabinets. Only by the grace of the solid wood counter were the _people_ , with their various buckles and weapons, spared.

It only lasted a moment before there was a loud _thump_ and the lightning ceased. 

Wash held them in place for a second longer, then carefully peered around the corner. He scrambled to his feet; Tucker was unconscious in a heap on the floor. His clothing was singed, and the back of his shirt had almost completely burned away. His marks flickered intermittently, but the light was _purple,_ not its usual blue.

“What the fuck was that?” Simmons screeched. 

“That's what I was afraid of,” Wash said. He moved to lift Tucker off the ground, but an arc of electricity jumped from his marks to Wash's hand and he jerked away with a pained hiss. “Don't touch him; it will electrocute you _at best_.”

“How- I had my hands all over it,” Donut said, voice shaking. 

“It wouldn't have affected you,” Sarge said. “You're not connected to the Vaults.” Wash looked at him in surprise, and he smiled wryly. “You're not the only one who knows about them, Atlas.”

Before Wash could firmly request Sarge _did not call him that_ , Tucker twitched. His eyes cracked open and he lurched away, back pressed to the wall, knees to his chest and hands in his hair.

“I'm sorry,” he gasped. “Just, just, just _give_ me a second.”

“Oh, he’s alive,” Grif said. “Fantastic. Hey, quick question: what the _fuck_ just happened?”

“I don’t know,” Tucker said, fear creeping back into his voice. “It… it sang. It’s still singing. Can’t you hear it?”

Wash’s heart stuttered. 

_‘It’s whispering,’ **she** had said, staring into the horizon, Wash at her side like a dog on a leash. ‘It wants me to find it. Can you hear it, Washington? Can you even begin to understand?”_

“You're alright, son,” Sarge soothed. “Just Vault shit messing with you.”

“Why would Vault shit mess with me?” Tucker pulled at his dreads, still half-panicked.

Oh. “Do you not know where Sirens came from?” Wash asked.

“I know what I was _told_ ,” Tucker said into his knees. He rolled his shoulders a few times; could he still feel his wings? “I doubt it's the truth. I think _they_ believed it, but I don't think they were _right._ I'm not a messenger of God.”

“'Yer not,” Sarge said. “Wash? You probably know more about the Vault than I do.”

“You were around a Siren longer,” Wash pointed out. “And she would have actually told you things.”

“Washington,” Tucker said, sharp, scared. The compulsion stirred in the back of his skull.

“Everyone knows Atlas opened a Vault a hundred and fifty years ago,” Wash answered. The compulsion curled back up and went dormant, satisfied it was unneeded and he was responding to his Siren. “But what they don't know is it was empty, just like the one here.”

“But they got weapons from it,” Simmons said. “Or… from around it?”

Wash nodded. “It wasn't entirely empty. There was a single artifact inside, but the moment the expedition leader touched it, it dissolved in her hands. As far as we know, the entire first generation of Sirens was born in the following year.”

“There's only ever four of us at once, right? Me, Lilith, Steele, and… and the one I know of on Athenas.”

Wash tilted his head at that, but didn't press. “Six.” He ran the math in his head. “You and Lilith are the youngest of the third generation, I believe. Whoever was born after, ah, after Emily would be the first of the fourth generation. Probably.”

“So I'm not holy, I'm an alien,” Tucker said. He laughed, angry and exhausted. 

“An alien weapon, technically,” Sarge said. “At least, as far as Emily could tell, that was the intent. Six members of whatever race was smart enough and strong enough to open the Vault of the Siren received its ‘gift’.”

“Why are we all women?” Tucker asked. The flickering had stopped. “Besides, you know. Me.”

“Emily thought maybe we're more genetically varied than the Eridians- the race that made the Vaults.” Sarge shrugged. “Maybe it didn't recognize men or _anyone_ with sex chromosomes different from that Atlas archaeologist as the same species. As far as she could tell, Emily was the first Siren that wasn't _white._ And now you, as different from that first Siren as you can get.”

Tucker’s eyes kept flicking to the table. “None of you can hear it, can you?” he said, so soft, softer than Wash had ever heard his voice. “The song.”

“What do you hear?” Caboose asked. He sat on the floor and folded his legs, staying far enough away that Tucker didn’t feel cornered.

“Promises,” Tucker said, and the room seemed to hold its breath as his eyes unfocused again. But he stayed down, tucked his head between his knees. “That I’ll never be in the dark again. That I’ll be untouchable. That I’ll be able to keep Caboose safe.” He laughed that bitter laugh once more. “Where did you find that?”

“Hyperion,” Donut said. “If it let Tucker do… _that_ , what is Hyperion doing with it? Could they-”

“No,” Simmons said before Donut could finish. “It’s statistically impossible, alright? Six out of billions? And we know four of them _aren’t_ there? I mean, there's no way Hyperion picked up a newborn fucking Siren, and we would know if they already had one, because she would have been at New Haven. There’s no way. It’s got to be for something else.”

“There’s no way,” Tucker echoed. He still sounded so _small_ , and Wash hated it. It meant he was failing somehow, at something. “There’s no way.”

“Get it out of here,” Wash said. Donut stepped forward and scooped the stone off the table, disappearing out into the hall. Tucker’s head snapped up and he turned as though to follow before pressing back against the wall, head smacking loudly against the concrete.

“Don’t let me follow him,” he said quickly, and Wash dropped to his knees and braced a hand against Tucker’s shoulder. If he really wanted to move, there was no way anyone could stop him, but it seemed to help. After several long moments, he sighed heavily. “I can’t hear it anymore. You can let go.”

Grif offered Tucker a hand to help him to his feet. Tucker took it slowly, making sure it wouldn't _actually kill_ Grif to touch him. 

“So that was terrifying for me,” Grif said, “so I imagine it was pretty fucked up on your end. You good?”

“I almost wish Lilith was here,” Tucker admitted. “At least then I could be sure I'm not insane, because she would hear it, too.”

“Steele heard it,” Wash said. Every eye turned to him as he stood. He paused long enough to shrug out of his jacket and offer it to Tucker, who pulled it on over his ruined shirt. “She heard the Vault, at least.”

“Honestly, that doesn't make me feel better,” Tucker said, “because Steele was fuckin’ nuts.”

Wash shook his head. “She was…” The compulsion unfurled, warning, waiting. “She was cruel, but not insane.” Pain bloomed in his skull, but it was dull, not the white-hot agony it used to be. She considered the truth insulting, Wash supposed. She was dead, though, so it didn't matter what she thought. 

“We should tell Sanctuary,” Caboose said. “They should know what's happening. And, and maybe they'll know something. About whether Lilith heard things, too.”

Tucker nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, you're right. You should tell them. Maybe they can figure out what Hyperion is using it for.”

“In the meantime,” Sarge said, “I have some of Emily's old journals, if you want to see her research.”

“I do,” Tucker told him. “Wash? Will-” He cut off to rethink his words.

“Can you tell him more about you know?” Simmons offered. He often did things like that- made requests for Tucker so as not to trigger the compulsion. Simmons had seemed especially disgusted by it, but waved off any questions with a vague answer about choices and understanding how it felt to lose them.

“Of course.”

Tucker picked at the sleeve of Wash's jacket. “At least I didn't kill anyone this time.”

“Small mercies,” Grif said, and the tension finally broke, the final dredges of terror bleeding out of them as Caboose lapsed into quiet giggles. 

The compulsion fell silent again, and Wash sighed silently as the pain ceased. His allegiance had shifted, and he would endure anything if it meant staying right where he was.

 _She_ was gone, with only the echoes of her leash left, and he trusted that hand that held it.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright. ::cracks knuckles:: Time to buckle down and do some goddamn character backstories, for real this time.


End file.
